Other Plans
by Mione3
Summary: We often find ourselves completely sure of how things will develop after an incident changes us, our feelings, attitudes, health. However...life sometimes has other plans!


Thank you for taking an interest in my story. I hope it is up to your standards and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I do not own the characters but the story line is of my own creation. Now, without further ado… enjoy!

Other Plans

_Chapter 1: Flight_

The rain was pouring down on the dark ground outside the cool, clear windowpane she was looking through. Her bare shoulder, with the exception of the spaghetti strap holding up the little fabric covering her attractive body, was leaning against the mahogany wood framing the transparent barrier keeping some of the weather out of the residence. Goose bumps rose gradually on the exposed skin as the change in temperature spread down her body caused from her forehead resting on the glass. Minutes, maybe even hours, ticked away while she was lost in thought, lost in her own little world unconcerned about the exhaustion she would surely feel come morning. It was a world where everything was as it should be; everyone she loved was alive, well and still considered her to be an important part of their lives. This world was her sanctuary from the nightmarish existence she was now subjected to live through. Parents cared for their children no matter what and would not force them out of their home for things beyond their control. No one there hated people for being different, mutants were actually revered, and people longed to be as unique and special as the occupants of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Life moved on in the mansion while she delved deeper into her fairytale land. She spent so much of her time daydreaming that she often had a hard time differentiating between fantasy and reality. Sleep evaded her each night while her mind raced to place more pieces in the dream. The shadows under her eyes were the only proof that she was surviving each day on a trifling couple hours sleep. Everyone at the mansion was oblivious to her condition, preoccupied as they were with battling their own demons in a way that may just have been as emotionally destructive, if not more, than her own.

At this point in her dream world she was adding segments to the family relationship that was severed with the manifestation of her matchless talent. The parents that had banned her from their home after David's three week coma hunted her down, begging her forgiveness for their cruel treatment at her time of need. Still being the same sweet girl though toughened by the dangerous and merciless world, she welcomed them back open-armed. It felt good to pretend that a mere hug, such an ordinary happenstance for anyone else, from her parents could mend the period of turmoil between them.

The heavy footsteps approaching her location snapped her from her intense gaze, causing her head to lift from its perch, her eyes traveling to the doorway and into the entrance hall. She saw the brief image of the broad shouldered man quickly pass the living room entrance without even a glance inside, determined on reaching his destination in as short a time as possible. On instinct she dashed forward, heart racing and blood pumping, praying she could cut off his escape.

"Logan," she wheezed as she pushed open the heavy oak door, running out into the torrential downpour without so much as a thought to her present attire, a thin black silk nightgown that just touched her knees and matching elbow length opera gloves. Even dressing for bed, since the assault on the mansion, she continuously coordinated her clothes; one should always look their best after all. The gloves were a precaution, even at that late hour, since she was roaming the halls of the school. As soon as she hit the stairs her bare feet were already cold and dirty but she could not have cared less. Splashing through several muddy puddles in the grass her legs were splattered and caked with brown filth in the few seconds it took her to reach the beginning of the long driveway.

He turned around giving her a once over before dropping his duffle bag, retracing his steps. "What're you doin'?" he asked gruffly, more growl like than anything else. Dressed more suitably for the current weather, his usual beat up leather jacket hiding the flannel shirt she could be sure he was donning and the tight jeans that were regarded by many to be as much a Logan trademark as his sneer and standoffish persona. His dark hair, that usually had a unique hornlike quality, was plastered to his head by the waves of water falling from the dark sky. It was nearly pitch black outside the mansion, the moon and stars being screened by the storm clouds hovering overhead. The little visible light was leaked out through the few windows at the front of the mansion whose occupants had not yet turned in for the night.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?" she answered his question with a question. He knew what she was doing anyway, why he continually chose to act oblivious was beyond her comprehension. Her composure was broken with the intensity of his stare and the tears began to escape from her brown eyes. Cheeks red and wet with moisture from the rain and her falling tears, she tried, in vain, to dry them. Hair billowing out behind her from the forceful wind, she was thankful that her long locks were not blowing into her face, leaving her vision of the man standing in front of her only obscured by the lack of light and falling rain drops.

In his eyes she thought she saw anger, irritation at being caught. He never talked to her anymore if he could avoid it. Since the Alkali Lake mission three months ago he rarely spoke to anyone and when he did it was short, sarcastic bursts, even towards her. Most of his time was spent in his room or out, at what she could only assume were the local hot spots. The nights he was out he rarely returned until well into the morning smelling of stale beer, cigars and cheap perfume. Her stomach churned when she thought about the cheap floozies that he continually saw, longing to be the one in his arms, making him feel at ease and able to forget the horrors that lay in both his recent and distant past.

These nights would find her waiting for his return scrunched up on the floor leaning against her closed bedroom door. After all, sleep rarely came so it made no difference where she was positioned; she had trained herself to slip into her personal fairytale anywhere. The motorcycle that he 'borrowed', Scott's to be precise, was the indicator that he was near. She could make it out a mile off.

The heightened senses she absorbed from him on more than one occasion had not completely disappeared like most of the staff thought. These new found abilities, however minor the enhancement, made it difficult for her in the school setting. Hearing the echoes of voices a good distance away told her more about her fellow students than she cared to know. The ability to make out figures in the dark did make life easier, especially in the current situation. Smell, was by far the one she wished had never been improved. Children's emotions run rampant, fear, anxiety, sadness, frustration, joy, and more. The worst was the arousal that streamed off people in the vicinity of the one they secretly desired. Roaming the halls at night she sometimes discovered the intimate turn certain relationships took.

The first time he arrived home in this fashion she foolishly confronted him in the middle of the second floor hallway outside her room causing a spectacle of their 'friendly' argument. A person with partial deafness could have heard his approach as he barreled down the hallway, his heavy frame making his footsteps resonate eerily off the wood-paneled walls. She pried herself up off the floor, exiting the room blocking the passage outside. When he reached that location in the hall he didn't acknowledge her presence at first until the obstruction began to aggravate the massive man wanting to pass out in his inviting bed. It was the first time he ever raised his voice to her, and although she would never even consider being afraid of him, she found herself shudder just the same at his unleashed temper, consequently relenting, stepping aside to let him pass. He thundered on, slamming his bedroom door in the process. She knew he smelt her unease during the confrontation. It surprised her that the mighty Wolverine was unfazed by her involuntary reaction to his feral attitude which, she was positive, would have disturbed him prior to the shock of the broken dam.

Morning helped to lessen some of the damage to their friendship from the night before when he conveyed regret, it was as close to an apology as one could expect from the Wolverine, for overreacting and she expressed remorse for putting her nose in where it didn't belong. Even though it alleviated some of the friction between them it left a small wall that would take longer and more effort to tear down, which it was made clear he had no desire to undertake.

He was not the only one who had changed following Alkali Lake. To be completely honest no one was the same. Scott was arguably the one who suffered the most, losing his fiancée to the rushing water of the broken dam. Unlike Logan, he chose to handle his pain in a more healthy fashion. Going to counseling sessions regularly with the professor seemed to relieve some of his anguish, allowing him to continue on with his teaching duties and team leader responsibilities. Although it was helping, the process was gradual and she noticed the change in his demeanor and appearance during her early morning math class. His ability to cope was a reflection of her own; shadows under the eyes indicating little to no sleep, far-off expressions before the start of class, and a lack of emphasis on his choice of clothing, often wearing items that desperately needed a meeting with an iron.

Jean was the best friend and confidant for Ororo so she felt her death more than most. Ororo felt it was her obligation to give the eulogy at the service that was held in memory of the beloved teacher a few weeks following her disappearance, giving her a feeling of closure others had not yet found. These days Ororo could be seen with Kurt habitually. Her demeanor was steadily returning to normal thanks to his influence over her way of thinking, giving her a newfound faith and belief in a life after death. She was convinced Jean was in paradise, having sacrificed herself for the lives of all those in the jet.

The Professor lost his prize pupil. She was the one he knew had the most potential, the one most likely to smooth the progression of humans considering mutants as having a positive place in the world. Jean excelled in the medical field and could have facilitated mutants with dangerous powers rejoining society by aiding them finding the skills to control their powers. He had been training her to harness the telepathic gift to give her access to Cerebro, another individual who could find a particular person on the opposite side of the Earth. The Professor searched every few days over the human and mutant wavelengths for any sign that she had survived the horror of Alkali Lake, but to no avail. Overall, Jean's death was difficult for everyone to bear.

Even the children were tainted. The mansion had been a place of refuge for the youngsters after fleeing the prejudice and fear of their friends and neighbors. Most lost the feeling of security they had reclaimed prior to the invasion and their frenzied escape or frightening capture. The children that were taken could not sleep in a room alone and they all needed a light on as well. As for the ones that managed to get away, they could no longer pass by the secret tunnels without eyeing them curiously and shuddering involuntarily.

Specifically, Bobby had lost his best friend, John, to Magneto's crew and repeatedly took it out on her eventually terminating their relationship altogether. She was struck heavily by the events as well. After all, she was the one who flew the plane, damaging it, which caused Jean to sacrifice herself in the first place. Every night she prayed for forgiveness for her actions, that the day she would tell Logan of her remorse he would find it in his heart to accept her regret as pure and true.

His response to her question knocked her out of her reverie. "Yeah, so?" he countered callously. Eyes flickering in the soft illumination from the mansion penetrating the bout of droplets, he looked menacing and would have flooded anyone else with fear.

She was not afraid of him but did visibly flinch at the harsh candor he was offering. Even though he had been distant she never thought he would be deliberately cruel. By no means was she deluded enough to believe he didn't know exactly how she felt toward him. Even if he was oblivious to her body language, regular staring incidents, on her part of course, and flushed face, he would have smelt her excitement on various occasions. For him to trample on her emotions in such an insensitive way was almost too much for her to endure. "Please don't go, I need you," she said softly, brushing her white streaked, rain soaked brown hair out of her eyes. Winding her arms instinctively around herself to keep as warm as possible she covered up her body's embarrassing reaction to the wintry weather uncharacteristic of late March. She looked small and defeated.

His mouth twitched into a crooked smile that made her apprehensive of what would come next. "You need me, huh, kid?" It was said without the slightest bit of emotion. She couldn't tell if he was flattered, disgusted, or indifferent to her declaration.

"Yes," she answered. "You're my _friend_; I don't want to lose you." She couldn't believe how brave she was being, practically telling him straight out her real opinion of the man before her. Shivering in the icy shower she waited for his impending retort.

After an eternity he finally told her how he felt about her confession. "I'm leavin' an' there's nothin' anyone can do about it, includin' you." Jaw tight, eye brows knitted and stature stiff he looked as if he wanted to wage war, that he needed a bloody and messy battle even if she was his only possible opponent. This was something she wasn't going to give him.

Logan had changed so much over the last few weeks that he barely seemed to be the same person she thought so highly of after that first encounter at the bar in Laughlin City. She trusted him with her very existence, with good reason since he had saved her life more than once. Now, now she had to come to terms with the fact that he was more preoccupied with his own issues to even remember she was ever alive. Not that she took his problems lightly, quite the opposite. She still had him running around in her head, the flashes of the fragmented memories of his past, the nightmares that woke both of them in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Finding out about his past had always been of the highest priority and she wouldn't dream of thinking that she should be put before that. However, he promised to protect her and how would he accomplish that feat if he was roaming around the continent, hell, the world for all she knew.

Her mind was racing and it was becoming increasingly difficult to put her thoughts in order. Desperately she searched her mind for something, anything she could say to keep the conversation alive and him from tucking tail to bolt. "When will you be back?" she asked quietly, so quiet in fact that had it not been for Logan's heightened senses he might never have heard the question.

He gave her another pass with his heated stare and ran a hand roughly through his matted hair making is stick up on end briefly before it was flattened yet again by the onslaught of water. Stoic as ever, his eyes found hers which made it clear that what he was about to say was completely true and not up for discussion. "I don't plan on _ever_ coming back," he said, all the while sneering at her like she was road kill.

Now she was having trouble breathing. The hitching of her chest due to the increased flow of tears was painful but she knew she needed to say what was on her mind, whether he wanted a dialogue or not, or she would regret it the rest of her life. "We…we all miss her, Logan," she said between sobs. Eyes blotchy, swollen and red, goose bumps the size of grapes covering her exposed skin and hair hanging in clumps over her shoulders, there was no doubt in her mind she was not a pretty sight. "You aren't the o-only one w-who lost her, o-others are h-hurting t-too but you d-don't s-see them r-running."

He clenched his fists at his sides and tightened his jaw as the words stuttered from her mouth. It was as if he wasn't even aware of her subconscious, traumatic bodily reaction. "You don't know how I feel, no one does!" he said slowly through his hardened jowl.

Reaching out a hand in a comforting gesture she began again, "Maybe if you told…" was all she could get out before he interrupted her, her hand fell back to her side.

"Like I'd ever tell _you_ anything," he interjected. His eyes were ablaze and she winced as he spoke. She opened her mouth more than once but could not utter a single syllable let alone a word. Her legs and arms felt paralyzed, feet planted on the spot she stood and arms dangling loosely at her side. He continued, giving her every reason to turn away, "It was _your_ fault Jean died."

At that, her breath stopped altogether. It was as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Sure, she had always blamed herself for Jean's untimely demise but hearing him tell her that he believed it as well was something totally different. "My fault?" she said, more of a statement than a question and not really needing, or wanting him to answer.

The crooked smirk that graced his face earlier reappeared and as quickly as it showed it was gone again. "_You_ damaged the jet. If you hadn't of been so damn eager to become a member of the team and thought of someone other than yourself she never would've had to leave the jet at all." The volume of his voice increased with each vicious word he spoke as emphasis of his belief that she was to blame for Jean's premature passing.

She trembled, from the cold, yes, but also because of his malice; anguish coursed through her body faster than the blood pumping inside her veins. "But, but if I hadn't flown there none of you would've made it to the jet in time." Having him basically tell her she committed murder, depraved indifference, made her want to justify her actions.

"At least we would have died together," he snapped, eyes wide and flashing with the uncontrolled revulsion he felt at not dying alongside his wonderful telepath. The battered black leather jacket he was wearing was soaked completely through making it impossible to imagine it would ever be dry again. His jeans were suctioned uncomfortably to his legs accentuating the unusually large and strong muscles of his thighs and leaving very little to the imagination. Water dripped off the end of his nose making his face look like a grotesque fountain with the way his features were contorted.

"I-I-I'm sorry," she stated simply. Her mind was void of any semblance of thought. She bit her lip in a nervous gesture, eyes trained on the ground near his large, heavy black boots. Her black silk nightgown was hanging heavily from her shoulders due to the waterlogged fabric and she could feel the wrinkles on her fingers multiplying and deepening underneath the saturated opera gloves adorning her hands, much like they would after prolonged emersion in a nice warm bubble bath. If she were to take off the elbow length protective shield her fingers were sure to have been coarse and pruned.

He turned his back on her as the apology left her lips. "Goodbye, Rogue," he said with a wave over his shoulder, bending down to reclaim his discarded duffle bag spilling the small puddle that had formed around the zipper, not giving her a second glance.

Her heart plummeted when he called her Rogue. He was the only one who knew her real name and he always, always, referred to her as Marie when they were out of earshot of the rest of the mansion community. That is when he wasn't calling her "kid" or "darlin'". Suddenly it felt like she had truly and irrevocably lost him forever. Frantically she chased after him, having trouble catching up due to his long strides not caring about the bloody mess that used to be the soles of her feet. Ultimately, as a last ditch effort to stop him from leaving her behind, she shouted out at the top of her lungs, "I _**LOVE**_ YOU, LOGAN!" and abruptly stopped her pursuit. This was not how she imagined professing her love to him. In her daydreams she envisioned the numerous romantic ways the truth would be revealed, such as a comforting session following a violent nightmare, candlelit dinners, and the discovery of control over her skin. However, this was reality, harsh, bitter and unforgiving.

He paused but did not turn around to face her. The next words he spoke pierced her heart, shattering it to a thousand pieces. "I wish it had been _you_!" With that, he tossed his bag into the storage place under the seat of his destination, a parked motorcycle, climbed on and sped away from his home, his 'family,' and _his_ Marie, never looking back.

Rogue collapsed on the ground in hysterics and stayed there for a long time. The broken pieces of her heart hardened as her crying began to subside. When her last tear fell from her swollen eyes she swore she would never let anyone hurt her that way again and it was then that she allowed the voices inside her head to come to the forefront. She wanted to fade away into nothingness, that was all that was left for her, or so she thought. Life sometimes has other plans.


End file.
